


Duck Duck Goose

by china_shop



Series: Roommates (post season 5) [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Babysitting, Families of Choice, Fic, Gen, Humor, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mozzie and murder? Those two things do not belong in the same sentence." </p><p>Set after 5.12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duck Duck Goose

**Author's Note:**

> For Maia's prompt, "Those two things do not belong in the same sentence."
> 
> Thanks to mergatrude for beta and the title. <3

Mozzie called while Diana and Neal were on their way to interview a possible witness. "Don't freak out!"

Neal rolled his eyes. Diana was already ambivalent about Mozzie babysitting, and as opening lines went, _Don't freak out!_ was up there with _The end is nigh!_ , especially with the car speaker making Moz's voice shrill and panicky. 

Diana's knuckles whitened as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "What's wrong? Is it Theo?"

"Teddy's fine, but you need to come home _now_ ," said Mozzie. "The police want to talk to you."

The next minute, the siren was on the dash, and Diana was yelling, "Caffrey, hang on."

Neal swung from the grab handle above the door as, tires squealing, she pulled a violent 180.

 

*

 

There were three patrol cars parked in Diana's street. "I'm sure it's nothing," said Neal. "Look, it's not just your house. They're going door to door."

Diana didn't reply, and he followed her up the path to where Mozzie was standing on the doorstep, holding Theo and arguing with a uniform. Diana grabbed Theo out of Mozzie's arms, checked him for injuries and visibly relaxed. She turned to the police officer. "Diana Berrigan, FBI. This is my house. What's going on?"

Neal stayed safely out of the cop's field of vision, mostly from habit, and raised his eyebrows at Mozzie, who shook his head. 

"We're investigating the suspected homicide of the mail carrier for the neighborhood, and this man won't give me his name," said the cop, checking her notebook as if to confirm the absence of Mozzie's legal name in her notes. 

"He's my babysitter, his name is Mozzie," said Diana firmly. "Who was the mail carrier?"

The cop took a photocopy of a mugshot from the back of her notebook and showed it to Diana. "Donnie Gelvin."

"Donnie the Duck is dead?" said Neal, too surprised to keep quiet.

The cop raised her eyebrows but kept addressing Diana. "He'd only been working this round for a week and a half, and a lady across the street saw him arguing with your Mr. Mozzie this morning.

"I politely instructed him to stay away from Teddy," said Mozzie, radiating indignation. "We don't want this child's pliable mind influenced by someone with such terrible habits."

"What kind of bad habits?" said Diana.

Mozzie scowled. "Donnie was a pickpocket. A bad one."

"He also sold crystal meth," intervened Neal, before Moz could explain himself too freely. Neal shot the cop an appropriately helpful-slash-rueful smile. "So you might want to start there for a motive."

Diana clutched Theo protectively. "If this mook was selling crystal, what was he doing working for the postal service?"

"Probably distribution," said Mozzie. "A mail carrier is almost as invisible as a gas company technician—one of whom your previous babysitter permitted to enter your sanctum sanctorum."

"That was _you_ in a gas company uniform," snapped Diana. "And then you argued with her until she quit!"

"My point still stands—"

"We don't actually know anything about Donnie Gelvin's business practices," Neal told the cop, while Diana and Moz continued to bicker like a couple who'd been married fifty years and Theo burbled, unconcerned. Neal managed to wrap up the interview and usher her down the path before she could object. "Good luck with your investigation, officer."

When he came back, Mozzie was wresting the baby from Diana. "It's time for his bath. Give him to me. You're supposed to be at work for another hour and twenty-eight minutes. You're intruding on our bonding time!"

"You called me to come home early!" snapped Diana, equally frustrated. 

"To deal with a legal problem. It's dealt with. You may go." Mozzie carefully took Theo in his arms and scurried inside. It was a small mercy he didn't slam the door in Diana's face.

Diana pushed her frazzled hair back, looking tired and frustrated. "Tell me Mozzie didn't kill Donnie the Duck."

"Mozzie and murder? Those two things do not belong in the same sentence." Neal met her gaze, open and forthright. That was one thing he could very nearly guarantee.

She gave a deep relieved sigh, and he shepherded her inside. There was no surface in the house that wasn't cluttered with toys or books or baby things or stained with milk or formula, but the kitchen was clean despite that, and Neal put some coffee on. "You want me to call Peter and tell him we didn't get a chance to interview Sullivan?"

Diana flopped into a chair. "Yeah. Thanks, Caffrey."

 

*

 

"Okay, tell me the truth, Moz," said Neal later that evening on his patio, over a glass of very good Nero d'Avola. "You didn't politely ask Donnie the Duck to vacate Diana's neighborhood. What really happened?"

"I may have leveraged some information from Donnie's past to encourage him to steer clear of Teddy's vicinity for the next ten or twenty years," said Moz, swirling his glass. "That's all. I didn't have anything to do with his demise."

"Glad to hear it." The tiny voice of doubt in the back of Neal's head was silenced. He trusted Moz, and he'd been ninety-nine percent certain his assurance to Diana was reliable, but there was always that pesky one percent. Mozzie grip on reality wasn't the tightest, especially when it came to Theodore Berrigan.

Moz drank deeply. "It's hard to believe the Duck turned up dead. He was lower than scum, but he was also working for the postal service. Whatever happened to 'neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night'?"

"I think he's completed his appointed rounds," said Neal. He took a memorial mouthful of wine. Even scumbags deserved a few seconds' reflection.

"He should have stuck to delivering the mail. I mean, drugs? Really? And before that, he was the worst pickpocket I ever had the misfortune to witness in action. You know, he actually stuffed his whole hand into his mark's pocket? I once saw him tear the lining of a William Westmancott jacket!" Moz shook his head, appalled. "At least wherever he is now, he can't corrupt tiny minds with his terrible technique."

"Speaking of tiny minds," started Neal, but Mozzie was riding his own private train of thought. 

"Naturally I intend to teach my namesake the criminal arts, but I'll do it properly, with style and panache. I'll have him picking locks before he can talk."

"Moz, I don't think Diana wants her son picking locks." Neal shuddered to imagine her reaction if she found out.

But Mozzie was firm. "Neal, you know as well as I do that picking locks is a survival skill. It will give him career options." Moz held his glass up to the light, as if admiring the rich hue of the wine. His smile was cherubic. "Of course it's completely up to him if he chooses to follow in my illustrious footsteps once his training is complete."

 

END


End file.
